When Avenestra awoke five or so hours later, headachy as always, he was not in the room. The silver coin was. She was certain that she had done nothing for it. And she remembered what he had told her. Crazy, she thought, and was thinking fondly of that nice fatherly Ahdio when she slipped back into sleep.

Cusharlain arrived in the common room of the Golden Oasis shortly after noon and Esaria shortly after that. She was bright and summery and pretty in a long sky blue dress cut dazzlingly low. She was also babbly, and her cousin put a hand over her mouth.

"I have two good prospects as places of business and lodgings, Strick, and Ahdio suggested four names. A fifth he is not totally certain about. Said he had seven, but you specified decent and honest. You can interview them where and when you wish. Unh! Stop licking my palm, brat!"

"Let's go look," Strick said. "Stop giggling, Esaria, and you may come along with the big boys."

They went. Along the way Esaria told them how miserable her mother was because of the new bosom-displaying style.

"Beard of Us!" Cusharlain said. "With those melons? She should be pleased and proud to display all that bounty of the gods, much less half!"

"You don't understand. Second Cousin. Never tell her I told you, but mother has a large hairy mole rather high up on her left, uh, bounty. Right on top. That's why she has stayed covered to the collarbones, always. Now-either she reveals it, or everyone whose opinion she cherishes will sneer at her for being so ridiculously out of style."

Cusharlain laughed. Strick did not, and Esaria noticed. She took his arm and snugged it to her. Her bodyguard ambled along behind, aware that he was smaller than Strick.

By midaftemoon that quiet man with the accent had leased three rooms, two upstairs over the ground-floor one, and had optioned another. His shop and dwelling were on the street called Straight, between Chokeway and the Processional and thus not at all far from the Golden Oasis. By the following afternoon, with the help of Cusharlain and an eager Esaria, he had acquired most of the furnishings he needed.

He paid Cusharlain and returned Esaria's hug.

"I will visit Sly's tonight and observe the men Ahdio recommends," he told her cousin. "But as to Harmocohl: no, in advance."

"Surely I can be trusted by now, Strick. You have a carpet, drapes, some chairs and a desk, and beds. What sort of shop is this to be? What do you plan to do here?"

"Help people," Strick told him, and after a while Cusharlain went his way, having learned no more. Strick turned to Esaria.

"Esaria: you must get your mother here as soon as you can. I don't care how many bodyguards she brings. You've just got to get her here."

She looked at him. "It isn't going to do me any good to ask why, is it?"

"Not yet. Try."

"Try! I'll do it! Are you going to take me to that dreadful dive back in the Maze?"

"A bunny in the lions' lair! Never!"

"What about to bed? Are you ever going to take me to bed?"

He repeated his previous utterance.

No, Strick was told, Avenestra was not in the Golden Lizard. No, she had not drunk anything and she had not stayed the second night. But she had been in four times, asking after him. She had bidden the proprietor mention... Uncle Ahdio?

Strick smiled, paid for two more days/nights and made his thoughtful way back to the Golden 0. There he was confronted by a certain caravan guard. Solemnly Fulcris turned up the sword-arm sleeve of his tunic.

"The wound is fine," he said. "And by the very beard of Yaguixana, I'd wager there will be no scar, either!"

"Told you, Fulcris. I know a good wound when I see one. What are your plans for "

"It's not going to be that easy, my friend. What did you do? What have you done?"

"In addition to which," a new voice asked, "what are you, Strick?"

Strick looked at him, eyes large. "Hello, Ahdio."

"You might as well call me Uncle Ahdio. Avenestra does. And now I have a non drinker cluttering up my place!"

Strick didn't laugh. "You know what I am, Ahdio. Just understand this: It is what Sanctuary needs most. It's all white."

"All, Strick? Always?"

Strick met his eyes and put force into his gaze. "All, Ahdio, always. It's a vow-and don't question me that way again."

Ahdio returned the gaze, his head moving almost imperceptibly in the mere hint of a nod. "I believe you. I even apologize."

Strick smiled and squeezed his arm, while their exchanged look lengthened.

"Do... do I dare ask?" Fulcris asked nervously.

"Fulcris my friend, I will tell you. Not just now. I repeat, though: what are you going to do? Stay? Go? Find work here, or on the next caravan out?"

"I will tell you," Fulcris said with dignity, "but not just now." And he turned and walked away.

"That's interesting," Ahdio said. When Strick said nothing but only gave him a questioning look, he said, "He's the fifth man. The one I told Cusharlain I couldn't be sure about because he isn't a Sanctuarite and I don't know enough about him."

Strick smiled and looked at the door that had closed on Fulcris. "I do," he said, so quietly. "Proud fellow, isn't he!"

"Um. That's three of us. Strick-you said 'you know' when I asked what you are..."

Strick looked at him again, into the other big man's eyes. "Aye. Three spells in your place, none dark-though I can't be sure about the cat I've never seen. I doubted coincidence."

"You can ... see spells?!"

Strick nodded. "Usually. Often, anyhow. Not always. It's an ability."

"God-it's a talent! A marvelous talent!"

"No, Ahdio. An ability. I paid. I paid for all of it."

Ahdio met the gaze of those large blue eyes for quite some time before he said, "I won't ask, Strick."

"Good. I won't either. Tell Avenestra she has a room at the Lizard tonight and tomorrow night."

"I'll tell her. And I won't ask, Strick."

The man named Frax arrived clean and military-looking for his interview. He had been a palace guard. Then the Bey sins came. Now Beysibs guarded the palace. Frax had yet to find employment. Strick sat thinking about that for a while, chewing the inside of his lip. Suddenly he stared past Frax, his eyes going wide. He had not finished his "Look out!" when Frax had spun to face the door, crouching, poised. Each fist had grown a dagger. He saw nothing; no one and no menace.

"You're hired," Strick said, and Frax turned to find him still seated comfortably. "A partition will divide the room downstairs: an entry hall and your room. Your bed will be in it, and your belongings. You'll consider yourself on duty at all times, starting on the morrow. What payment did you receive, as palace guardsman?"

Still in partial shock, Frax told him.

"Hmp! The Prince is no less important than I am-yet. Same wage, Frax."

"You-that was a trick! You tested-"

Frax blinked down at the swordpoint at his chest. His new employer had stood and drawn and set it there as fast and smoothly as any man Frax had ever seen.

"You had to be almost as good as I am, Frax," he said in that equable way, eyes large and serene. "I won't be wearing a sword." And Strick swung the sword up and back, touched his shoulder with it, and sheathed without glancing down. "Do you know anything about a sort of over-age street urchin named Wintsenay?"

"Not much, Swordmaster. He's a-"

"You definitely are not to call me that, Frax! We'll-" He paused, listening, and smiled. "I have a guest, Frax. If I'm lucky, two guests. In the morning, Frax?"